JAMES Dang mosquito bit me right where I can't reach it. I rub my back against a hickory tree--up and down, side to side. There--almost got it. Might look silly, but nobody's watching. Except a squirrel--I hear it up there in the branches, and I get out my slingshot. Ma will be happy when I bring home something for the soup pot. Where is that old squirrel, anyhow? Sounds like a whole family of 'em, laughing at me, and I can't see even one. What? Not again! It's Anikwa, laughing as he jumps down from the tree and lands beside me. How long has he been watching? I swear he can sound like anything! Squirrel, bumblebee, bluebird, or bullfrog. Once, I heard my baby sister crying, but when I turned to look--it wasn't Molly, it was him! ANIKWA James looks up in the tree like he thinks there's a real squirrel hiding somewhere in its branches. I suck in my cheeks to make myself stop laughing-- he shakes his head, puts away his stone and slingshot, gives me a smile that means I got him this time, but next time he'll be watching if I try that trick again. Come on , he motions as he heads to the berry bushes. I've seen him out here picking berries every afternoon since they started to get ripe. Makiinkweeminiiki , I say, pretending to put berries in my mouth and pointing down the trail toward the bushes. He nods his head. Yes , he says, blackberries . As we walk to the berry patch, he tries my word-- makiinkweeminiiki , and I try his-- blackberries . I roll both words around like berries in my mouth. Copyright © 2013 by Helen Frost Excerpted from Salt: A Story of Friendship in a Time of War by Helen Frost All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
